Ten Thousand Silver Ties
by Kyoka-BOO
Summary: It's been fifteen years since Seigaku, and twelve since he last saw Tezuka. In a strange turn of events, Fuji finds himself meeting his former captain one last time in a situation larger than life.[TezuFuji][Written for 30 livejournal deathfics community]
1. Photograph

**Fandom:** Prince of Tennis  
**Title**: Ten Thousand Silver Ties (Chapter One)  
**Author/Artist:** MoonlitAffairs (Kyoka)  
**Theme(s):** #28—Beauty  
**Characters:** Tezuka Kunimitsu, Fuji Shuusuke, Atobe Keigo  
**Rating:** T  
**Warnings:** Character death (eventual)  
**Disclaimer: **All characters are hereby disclaimed to Konomi Takeshi. I don't claim ownership, and am writing this as a non-profit work.  
**Author's Notes**: Here's my next deathfic. This one is multi-chaptered, so though elements of death should be in almost all chapters, leading up until the final one, there won't be a death _every _chapter. I'm trying this in a newer, shorter, style. Because I just want to finish these prompts. Please give me some feedback!

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**Ten Thousand Silver Ties**  
_Chapter One: Photographs_

Fuji had always loved the mountains since he had been a small child, accompanying his mother and sister as they made their way to a local shrine there for a festival. The melting mix of his memories was beautiful, he thought, so absolutely beautiful. His thoughts melted into a scene, where he sat at an altar in the shrine, his hands folded in front of his face. He smiled widely in accomplishment to his mother and then trotted out of the room, closing the sliding screen behind him, and then holding on tightly to his mother's hand.

The beautiful scene of a dirt road and blooming cherry blossom trees slowly melted back into the modern city, with its bustling crowds and energetic shopkeepers, with its banners above and the crowds of teenagers talking about the latest, most popular music artist.

It was a strange contrast.

Memories of the mountains melted away, into middle school, high school, university… His landscape changed from Chiba, to the familiar streets in Tokyo, then to American streets that had never quite seemed like home to him. They were so different than those back in Japan; the people were different, the food was different. Everything was different, and Fuji hadn't realized that he would miss Japan so much until he left. Now the only visits he made back were seasonal, to visit his mother, Yumiko, and of course, his beloved little brother, Yuuta.

The world had a beauty of it's own, a natural beat that joined a chorus of symphonies.

His eyes were focused on photographs and pictures before him, as he slowly slid aside pictures that had been bleached out by the sun, or didn't quite have the proper elements in them. It made him want to get out his old pictures, ones that focused on people. Right now his most recent ones were of a weeklong 'business trip' he had taken up to the Rocky Mountains, in hopes that he would get some good photographs that he would be able to sell at an upcoming photography convention. The landscapes spread before him were everything from the mountain sunrises, to streams, to small animals that he had managed to capture on film on his hikes through wooded areas. It all looked lovely, he thought to himself. Certainly, people of the city would want to bring such beauty into their house.

After all, most people were not lucky enough to be able to see the beauty of natural, untamed mountain wilderness everyday. These photographs sent him to his bedroom, digging for a box under his bed that held all of his old photographs and albums from his youth. He opened them to a picture of Tezuka Kunimitsu, sitting unassumingly under a tree.

That had been a beautiful picture, in his opinion, even more beautiful than the mountains themselves.

His old calendars and photographs piled up. Fifteen years. It had been fifteen years since he had left Seishun Gakuen behind. It had been twelve since he had graduated from high school and gone to continue his studies in America. The photographs had been one of the only worldly possessions besides clothes that he had brought with him overseas. Eight years, it had been since he graduated from his university and continued work as a professional artist and photographer. Six years, it had been since he became an official American citizen.

The events drew beautifully to a close, like the end of a movie. Fuji had just turned thirty this year, his life coming to a new stage. That stage was so blank, so empty that he no longer knew what was ahead of him.

It had been fifteen years since he had left the scene of his middle school tennis club, and the sweet memories of those days still tickled his mind, wafting past him like the sweetest scent. Fuji hadn't forgotten what it smelled like when he played all-out, the beads of sweat running down his neck, the roar up wind in his ear as he brought his racket forward quickly, feeling the power of the ball hitting his racket and traveling up his arm like electricity. A second later, the ball was traveling away from him in a blur of color, towards the other person. Fuji hadn't forgotten the fragrance that drifted across the courts when the cherry blossom trees nearby bloomed, or what it was like as a first year student to have to sweep any stray petals off the tennis courts.

_Fifteen-Love_

Sometimes, he wondered what it would be like to go back to those days. Sometimes, they tugged at his heart in such a manner that he thought that sometimes, just sometimes he missed those days. He wouldn't have thought so, back then. The world he lived in now was a wide-open path that he was free to explore. Fuji had power, freedom, and independence in almost all aspects. He'd managed to draw himself a comfortable life, free from worry. This had been what he wanted. Even now, people loved him, wanted to be him, reveled in his talents. This was what he had wanted. He was still _'Seigaku's prodigy'_ He still brought honor to his family name, even though he hadn't followed his parents' expectations by marrying a nice girl and settling down.

This is what _'Seigaku's prodigy' _wanted most, always and forever. He lived proudly up to the standards that had been set for him years ago, with much ease.

Sometimes, though, he would look back and wonder what Kawamura Takashi, Echizen Ryoma, Kikumaru Eiji, Oishi Shuuichiro, Momoshiro Takeshi, Kaidoh Kaoru, and Tezuka Kunimitsu were doing right at that moment.

He missed Tezuka especially, sometimes; the last time that Fuji had talked to him, they had met on a train. That was during their third year of high school, when Fuji had been running late for school and taken a different route than usual, which had coincidentally crossed with Tezuka's. He wondered what it would be like to be able to meet with Tezuka once more. Oh, what he wouldn't give.

Fuji shook his head to separate his thoughts from his memories, and then rested his chin in his palm. Tonight was a little colder than usual, he thought as he went to retrieve a woolen sweater from his bedroom. Pulling the sweater over his head, Fuji sighed wistfully.

What he wouldn't give… To see Tezuka again, perhaps only once more… 


	2. Phone Call

**Fandom:** Prince of Tennis  
**Title**: Ten Thousand Silver Ties (Chapter Two)  
**Author/Artist:** MoonlitAffairs (Kyoka)  
**Theme(s):** #21—Cold

**Characters:** Tezuka Kunimitsu, Fuji Shuusuke, Atobe Keigo  
**Rating:** T  
**Warnings:** Character death (eventual)  
**Disclaimer: **All characters are hereby disclaimed to Konomi Takeshi. I don't claim ownership, and am writing this as a non-profit work.

Thank you very, very much to all the people who were kind enough to review! I really appreciate all feedback that people give. (If you see anything wrong with this, I'd love you if you gave some constructive criticism)

Please review!

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**Ten Thousand Silver Ties**  
_Chapter Two: Phone Call_

The ring of the phone, that night, pulled him from his sweet reverie of the past, as he made his way over to the phone on the counter, which blinked green with a familiar caller identification. Fuji's usual smile was a mask, pushing him farther and farther past the limits of his thoughts.

Lifting the receiver and switching on the phone, he held the speaker up to his ear while drawing open the sliding door that lead out to his backyard porch. Out here, the crickets chirped peacefully to make a constant melody. It was cold, though, undeniably cold. He didn't mind, though, since the stars were twinkling beautifully above, and it was quiet. He was far enough away from the city to see the stars greeting him above, the beautiful rivers of light, and the Milky Way. It was a beautiful sight, yes, and one that brought back memories, all cast in a mood of nostalgia, happy nostalgia.

The sweet, crisp smell of an autumn's night remained uninterrupted by breeze, yet the stagnant air tasted sweet, something uncharacteristic for this time of year. Off in the distance, he was able to hear the dry rustle of the leaves at the rare moment a breeze had decided to interrupt the peace of the night.

"_Fuji,"_ the voice, deep and seductive, yet familiar, answered.

"Hello, Atobe. What brings you to call tonight?" There was a warm chuckle from the other line, self-confident and somewhat arrogant. It was so warm, but it did not calm the slight shivers that ran through him every once in a while. He pondered a little on how he had managed to keep contact with Atobe, even after all these long, ever-changing years. Why hadn't that been the same with Tezuka, for instance, or even Eiji? Somehow despite the fact his ties with this self-centered man were far from those of his own team, he had only managed to keep in contact with this man, who came to America every once in a while to supervise major projects in the overseas branch of the successful business that he inherited from his father upon marriage. (Atobe had married a woman just four years)

_"I'll be taking a flight out to America in just a few hours, so I thought I'd call."_

"Mm, really?" he answered. That was right; it was probably somewhere early in the morning back in Tokyo, the home that he had come to miss, with it's festivals and bright colors in spring, radiant hues in fall.

"_Did you know that supposedly Tezuka was coming to the area, too?"_ At this, Fuji gave a true, true pause to draw air. The terse, rigid silence must have signaled that he was obviously interested in it.

"_Anyways, I talked to him a few months ago. He became a doctor, did you know? I don't have his phone number because he needed to get settled, get a new cell phone, you know? He told where he'd be, and it's right up your alley. Have you seen him?"_ Fuji shook his head slightly and then lowered it as if in apology. Maybe, just maybe he could see if Tezuka was in the phone book, or something. Fuji could have sworn that he heard Atobe mutter softly _'thought you talked to Tezuka'. _

"No, I haven't. Is there something else you wanted?"

_"I'm going to be in the area for all of this week. My schedule is open Sunday, so if you would like to have a match, why don't we meet at the usual place."_

His head echoed each of Atobe's words painfully, as if they had been spoken over a megaphone. It hurt; it made his ears ring. Perhaps he had just been sitting in such silence for such a long time that he couldn't bear to hear noise right now.

For a moment, Fuji put a hand to his own forehead, pausing slightly. Under his own hand, the skin felt hot and sticky, and his palm was covered in a thin coat of cool sweat. He paused, went back inside to get the electronic thermometer, almost forgetting that Atobe was on the line while he stuck the thermometer inside his other ear and waited until it registered with a small _beep_.

_"Fuji?"_

Fuji almost jumped, turning away from the thermometer for a moment. "Oh, Atobe?" He gave a smooth chuckle, as if zoning out had been an innocent mistake. His fingers paused against his lips, tracing where a small frown had begun to form, brushing away the last remnants of laughter. His graceful, controlled smile tore across his features again, replacing the blank one that had been there only a few seconds ago. "You were saying something."

_"Are you free for a match on Sunday?"_

Fuji looked at the small screen on the thermometer while answering, "Oh… No, I'm not busy. What time were you thinking about?" This thermometer was American-made and read in Fahrenheit, not Celsius. Even now, after twelve years of living in the United States, he wasn't quite able to comprehend the temperature, because his brain automatically registered it to be in Celsius and was perplexed when he didn't see a temperature around thirty-seven degrees. This temperature currently read 104.1 degrees, which made his raise his brow in consideration. When, finally, it registered in his brain that he needed to convert the temperature, he seemed to grow even more perplexed.

Surely, the thermometer had misread. That was a high temperature, and he didn't feel hot.

After all, he felt so cold, so, so, cold.

_"Around four in the afternoon is the time that I was thinking of. Fuji… is there something wrong?"_

Perhaps, there had been a small, undetectable quiver in his voice that Atobe had somehow detected, maybe because of his 'insight'. Fuji frowned further and decided that the thermometer had misread his own temperature; that meant he had to probably go buy a new thermometer, soon. It was a shame, too. Those new ear thermometers were supposed to be highly advanced and accurate… yet, Fuji couldn't find that he would have such a high temperature, for any stretch of reason. He'd paid such good money because he wanted an accurate thermometer, too. What a shame.

He slumped against the door, his vision going foggy for a minute. His hand touched the pane of glass; it felt so cold under his touch, and he couldn't help but suppress a light shiver at the feeling. It was like freezing ice, cold metal, and the deepest cold of winter. "No, no, I'm fine. I just feel sick." The words, stinging lies taught with worry, didn't even seem to convince Fuji. Self-reassurance wasn't working, and the deathly feeling only made him colder.

_"Well, then perhaps you shouldn't meet me tomorrow."_

Fuji took a step forward, intending to step out into the night again. Now that he was so cold, surely, the temperate night would warm him a little. His fingers paused, hovering just ever so slightly over the wooden frame of the door. For a moment, his left foot had caught in a clumsy step on the door's edge, and he had almost tripped. Carefully, he lifted his left foot over the wood, without even paying attention to his right.

"No, no, I'll be—"

Perhaps, maybe then he had made a fatal mistake.

Fuji couldn't speak anymore. It was like a snake had slithered down his throat and suddenly decided to constrict around his vocal cords. The shock was passing through his soul like electrifying waves, stopping his heart, and he couldn't even gasp before he met the wood paneling on the porch.

There was pain, rightfully. It was like the crack of a whip, a hammer that went straight through his head, spreading from his forehead, to his temples, all the way to the back of his head.

"_Fuji? Fuji!" _Fuji's vision was swimming with dazzling colors he hadn't known to exist. Dazed, he couldn't answer. He didn't know where he was anymore. Panic raced through him like a tidal wave, breaking all barriers and flooding his vision. He gave a choking cough. Rims of ice, darkness, and fog washed over the fringes of his mind scaring all coherent thoughts to the very back corner of his mind with the shadow it cast.

Cold, icy fear spread through him as he tried to catch his breath, and tried to calm his thundering heartbeats, falling deafly to his ears, accompanied by fatigue. There was a soft voice, something so distant that it could have been mistaken for a hiss of static, still coming from the receiver, but he couldn't discern it. Laying his fingers across it's plastic; he pulled the phone closer to him and attempted to sit up.

There was fire, stabbing, immediate, excruciating pain. Fuji winced, dropping the phone to cradle his head in his hands, and he met the ground again, his weakness causing him to meet it with a roughness that jarred his already aching head even more.

_He didn't know where he was anymore. _

Fuji had never felt such steely, deathly fear, and it overtook his soul, drowning him along with it.

_He was afraid, deathly, deathly afraid._

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**Notes on fever, body temperature, whatnot:** Normal body temperature is around 37 degrees Celsius, which is why, when Fuji mistook the Fahrenheit reading on the thermometer, and thought that it misread, before he realized that it was the Fareheit reading. (If my memory serves me correctly, normal body temperature for the Fareheit scale is about 96-98 degrees Fahrenheit.)

And no, Fuji didn't collapse from fever. He collapsed because he tripped and then hit his head. Fuji's fever is about 40 degrees in Celsius.

Chapter three, Tezuka makes an appearance!


	3. Inseparable

**Fandom:** Prince of Tennis  
**Title**: Ten Thousand Silver Ties (Chapter Three)  
**Author/Artist:** MoonlitAffairs (Kyoka)  
**Theme(s):** #32—Cell Phone  
**Characters:** Tezuka Kunimitsu, Fuji Shuusuke, Atobe Keigo, Oshitari Yuushi  
**Rating:** T  
**Warnings:** Character death (eventual)  
**Disclaimer: **All characters are hereby disclaimed to Konomi Takeshi. I don't claim ownership, and am writing this as a non-profit work.  
**Author's Notes: **If you spot any mistakes, please point them out! And please review, please? I love feedback. (I think I cursed myself. I've been ill with a fever for the past two days.) Thank you very much to anybody who has reviewed already! I really appreciate it.

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**Ten Thousand Silver Ties**  
_Chapter Three: Inseparable_

"Doctor!" A young woman, dressed in hospital garb hurried up to him as Tezuka swept his briefcase off the floor, prepared to leave. Even when he survived the day, nearly a ten-hour shift without coffee, he somehow managed to never look tired by the end of it, even though he was one of the youngest doctors assigned to the ward right at that moment.

Tonight, even the emergency ward had fallen silent, uncharacteristic, as there was usually something of importance that kept everyone running. As the stars had fallen, and dusk settled, a quiet had overtaken the entire hospital. There were a handful of patients sitting in the waiting room to see specialists, and another part filled with family members waiting for loved ones to finish surgery. Tezuka Kunimitsu, the most recent employee there, was just about finished with his shift tonight. As always, his stance was curt, oddly stiff. Despite, he watched a younger nurse hurry up to him to break the uncharacteristic calm of the ward for only a second.

His eyes, of course, were calm to her boundless, almost youthful energy. He got that around here, sometimes. Girls anywhere seemed to automatically take a liking to him, so ever so calmly; he could turn his head the other way and subconsciously ignore it only calling upon years of experience. Tezuka's eyes showed wisdom beyond his age, but besides that, his features held familiarity and maturity, still no signs of aging. As a young doctor fresh out of med. school, he didn't have the characteristic wear of some doctors who worked long hours. He was still not old enough to have earned shorter shifts and a short workweek, but there was nothing to complain about. Tezuka Kunimitsu lived an ideal life.

Even through relentless nights, as he fell slowly to the routine of hospital work, Tezuka never tired.

"Can you sign these forms for me before you leave, please?"

To him, she handed a stack of the waiting papers, consisting of liability forms and waivers, mixed in were requests for doctor's notes, explaining various medical conditions. For Tezuka, this was all but old business, rather a routine that had become all too redundant. Even as young a doctor as he was, even though he would be thirty in a few months, he calmly noted everything, and was often the one to be taken into account for any paperwork involving doctors.

Pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, his feet halted, and he straightened his stance before taking the paper from the woman's waiting hands, flipping through them slowly before his curt nod assured her. "Yes. I will be done in five minutes. Thank you." He turned a blind eye to a puppy-eyed look that she gave him, before smiling and turning on her heels to walk off in the other direction. She didn't leave before responding.

"Thank you, Doctor Tezuka!"

Her enthusiasm was never lacking, and, though it was irrelevant to the subject, he had to give the girl credit. America was truly a land full of opportunities, but there were few who were able to pronounce his name without being corrected a good few times. She, a native-born American, was able to figure out his name easily enough. His feet guided him over to the nurses' station where he could have a hard surface to write on. Usually a clipboard would have sufficed, but as it was nearing late night, and his shift was over, he had already taken off the sweeping, stiff white doctor's coat His clipboard was already stowed away for the night, and his work uniform folded neatly in the bag, almost sleek enough to be a briefcase. The lines he wrote across the paper were, in fact, but lines to him.

Compared to Kanji, his name seemed almost entirely graceless when written in English. There were at least twelve straight lines, and some curves in his last name in English, but as his hand scribbled his entire name in a slanted signature, it felt all too foreign to him. English felt different to write than did Japanese. His name came out strangely in English, and he far appreciated the familiar sight of Kanji, which he had once or twice accidentally scribbled across the paper.

Tezuka paused over his signature, to meet his phone vibrating madly from his pocket, something that quite nearly shocked him. The phone was there for convenience purposes, but it never went off. His family back in Japan knew it, but they never called. They babysitter knew it, too, but she only called during emergencies, which he worried briefly about. Then again, Tezuka thought, it could have been one of the sales calls that he got all too often as soon as he arrived in America. He still hadn't taken his number out of public listings, but it probably would have been a good idea in doing so. Sales calls were troublesome and disturbing.

Pausing over it, and then finishing the last signature on the clean white paper, he pushed them over to the woman who had first given them to him, who had scurried behind the desks and busied herself with medical records and paperwork.

Flipping the phone open to gaze at the caller ID, he blinked. His phone was a more advanced type, a brand that picked up caller ID easily. His eyes for a moment, blinked as if there had been fatigue rubbed through them, as if he was going off the idea that he had misread the name _'Yuushi Oshitari'_ in blinking black letters on his phone. The name brought back memories, almost too many memories.

Why was Oshitari, one who was known as the prodigy of Hyotei, calling him?

"Kunimitsu Tezuka speaking, how may I help you?" He still was not used to speaking his name in English, in Western order. It felt so strange against his tongue, like a fire and slurred syllables that were not his own.

"_Tezuka?"_ The voice spoke quickly over the phone, echoing his native tongue, and telling Tezuka that it was safe to switch to speaking Japanese. _"Have you heard from Fuji lately?"_

Fuji.

Fuji Shuusuke, former prodigy of the tennis club at Seishun Gakuen.

Fuji Shuusuke, piercing blue eyes and sharp, handsome features, staring at him through darkness—

_They _**_had_**_ been inseparable._

Tezuka blinked for a moment, confused. Why did Oshitari expect him to still be in contact with Fuji? He hadn't seen him in ten, no, twelve years. Tezuka's heart sometimes wandered to his former teammates, but rarely thought of ever meeting with them again. Of course, it had been all too impractical. They had all gone their separate ways after middle school, save the inseparable Golden Pair.

Then again, why was Oshitari calling him, somebody whom he had never even known well during his middle school days? What in the world, he thought, did this have to do with Fuji, whose name was echoing deeply in his heart like a forgotten hymn when Oshitari mentioned it.

"No."

"_How far away from Las Angeles do you live?" _

"About an hour and a half. Oshitari, is there something that you need from me?"

"_Fuji's injured. I need your help."_


	4. One Voice

**Fandom:** Prince of Tennis  
**Title**: Ten Thousand Silver Ties (Chapter Four)  
**Author/Artist:** MoonlitAffairs (Kyoka)  
**Theme(s):** #24—Weakness  
**Characters:** Tezuka Kunimitsu, Fuji Shuusuke, Atobe Keigo  
**Rating:** T  
**Warnings:** Character death (eventual)  
**Disclaimer: **All characters are hereby disclaimed to Konomi Takeshi. I don't claim ownership, and am writing this as a non-profit work.  
**Author's Notes: **Hello there! Thank you very much to anyone who has reviewed. It helps me a lot to know your feedback. As always, reviews, especially constructive criticism is very much appreciated. And... I'll be done with Incandescent soon. I've just been so busy!

Not much to say about this chapter... except I don't like it!!

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**Ten Thousand Silver Ties**  
Chapter Four: One Voice

As the darkness bled into a dusky light, stained by crimson, Fuji grew less and less aware of his own body, and the pain that pinpointed itself acutely at his temples and spread to his fingertips like fire, making him wince and wiggle his fingers lightly in discomfort. This small gesture, this tiny sign of awareness was all that he could manage, until a rich voice called him. Almost mythically he could here it like an angelic chorus, and thought it to be silly that all the religious talk of death had been true. Yes, pain was growing slowly within him, but it slowly boiled down, and then subsided to the rich voice. Unconsciously he turned away, for he did not want to hear it just yet; given a moments time, he was sure that the vice-like grip the pain had on his head would lessen, and he would be able to hear clearly.

At that moment, he knew that it would be difficult to move; it would have taken every ounce of energy in his body, and he couldn't have spared it at all, for once that was gone, he would no longer have anything left. The voice called him again, and persisted. Finally, he could recognize the words, even when he didn't want to hear them.

"Fuji, can you hear me?"

"Mm…"

Fuji could feel darkness brushing at the corners of the very fringe of his mind, tempting him to sleep rather than answer the voice that called his name, something that only resulted in his head pounding more. He didn't want to open his eyes, for he was sure that if he did, the light would burn them. Sound hurt his temples like sharp nails scraping the chalkboard. Groaning, he attempted to shift, but it hurt to move, too. He was so, so cold.

Now, he did not want to answer the call of darkness, nor light, for he was sure that if he were to open his eyes, his pupils would be burned by bright light; yet, if he kept his eyes closed, eventually succumbing to the darkness, he would slowly fade away into nothing, fully diminished. Sound hurt his temples like it was sharp nails that scraped at a chalkboard. Groaning again, he attempted to shift and organize the unsure jumble of thoughts that stained his mind, but it hurt too much to move or think coherently.

And it was cold, very cold.

With cold came weakness, and he wanted to sweet; the voice persisted, though, and did not allow him that one gift which he desperately yearned for. Fuji rubbed his dry, chapped lips together and tasted liquid metal, the taste of his own blood as it ran from his forehead down to his lips.

"Fuji, I need you to stay with me."

There was a hand brushing his forehead, and Fuji batted the hand away, shivering in the cool night breeze. As if the voice had been an alarm, his eyes snapped open; at least, Fuji thought that he opened his eyes. Before, he hadn't realized that a warm, sticky substance was slipping from a gash on his forehead, running across the bridge of his nose. Some had gotten into his left eye, staining the gaze halfway crimson, while on the right side, he could barely see anything at all; the world was black. Upon realization of it, Fuji's world doubled back on him dizzily and he groaned loudly, not even noticing whom the other was, in his pain. It felt like he was dying, and he hurriedly laid back. A pair of hands guided him there gently, but did not allow him to curl into a ball, as Fuji desired. He was made to lay straight on his back, struggling slightly to breathe through the pounding headache that ravaged his entire body like a million needles intensified by cold.

"Hurts," Fuji murmured, softly.

"Yes, I think that he has a concussion. There's a gash on his forehead." Then, he paused. "Yes, and I'm trying to stop the bleeding." In complement to the distant, yet strong and sweet voice, a hand brushed across his forehead, brushing the sticky liquid away. Opening his eyes barely, he saw the hand draw away with a bloodied cloth in hand, soaked in more blood than he could have imagined. In the other he held a phone, and he was talking into it. Frowning, though, he paused for a minute, pressed a button on his phone, and began talking to another.

"Yes, I know Atobe, I'm taking care of it. He will be fine."

Fuji's mind was so clouded that the only thing in the muddle of his own panic and fear of death was Tezuka. Whatever he had been doing of discussing previously escaped him, but one face, clearly burned into his memory made his heart race. He couldn't breathe.

All he could remember was Tezuka.

Before this sudden, splitting pain, he had wished for Tezuka.

Now his foolish wishes were deeply jaded into his heart by unbelievable, splitting pain that constricted his thoughts so much that he couldn't even breathe at times. Instead each breath grew labored and forced in Fuji's panic. He wanted to leap from the ground and bash his head against a wall until the pain grew less and less so that he could breathe again. The glint of the glasses, a kind, strong hand, and a sympathetic smile froze him there.

There was a photograph of a beautiful man, and Fuji suddenly couldn't help back the wave of emotions that came to him, making him tremble in weakness. He wanted, almost, to cry at the irony of the thought of a last meeting, but he couldn't even move his fingers a fraction.

"Tezuka?"

"You must have really hit your head hard." The smile curled upwards into an expression that Tezuka couldn't have made, something that radiated of a mix of sympathy and worry. Yet, he thought, panicking, it wasn't Tezuka, but then who was it. "Do you remember Oshitari Yuushi?"

His heart hit the ground with a muffled thud.

So, it wasn't Tezuka…

"_Oshitari_? What are you doing here?"

"Well, I believe that it has a lot to do with Atobe. I didn't think that he was such a compulsive worrier, but looking at you, it is rightfully so. You've grown careless, Fuji."

"Huh?" Where had Atobe come into the equation?

"Never mind. Do you think you can stand? I've called an ambulance, but I think we need to get you inside for now. It's too cold out here to have you outside with such a fever." Fuji murmured light words under his breath, and Oshitari shook his head; Fuji muttered nonsense about school rivalries, about how Oshitari, prodigy of Hyotei, could not possibly helping him out solely out of concern. Deep inside the jumble of Fuji's pain-filled thoughts, years did not equate to peace between the two, even when from what Atobe told him, the two conversed regularly. Pulling an arm around Fuji's torso and ignoring the nonsense that came from the other's mouth, he half-hoisted, half-helped Fuji to stand on his two feet.

He finally stumbled in, back to where he had been sorting photographs on the table, of beautiful mountains, mixed well with a tall boy, with handsome features. A small smile curled around his lips before his knees would no longer bear his weight, and he fell back to meet the chair, panting slightly. A phone was held up to his ear, and Fuji was bidden to talk.

"_Fuji."_

The voice was calm, and all too familiar; Fuji's eyes formed clear blue rivers, wide and open, so full of unshed. Shakily, he took the phone, trembling all over. As if to leave him in peace, Oshitari went by the front door to wait for the ambulance. Fuji could have listened to the echo of that deep voice forever, handsome and serious at the same time; its strength was enough to make his heart tremor.

As he brushed the photograph sitting on the table, the memories flooded back to them. Fuji's hand trembled, and for a second he thought that he might have dropped the phone while his thoughts focused on the exact moment, and words that had been spoken years ago, sweet and filled with the innocence of childhood. Never had Fuji remembered something so vividly, yet with such pain.

"Hi, Tezuka."

_"Oshitari tells me that you were muttering my name when he arrived. Is there something wrong?"_

The tears almost burst, like a dam. Fuji pressed his lips together in a thin, graceful line. He knew why he had been muttering Tezuka's name, but he would not readily admit it. That would be embarrassing and disgraceful. Besides, Tezuka's greeting wasn't even proper. That in itself wounded his heart. "I must be delirious. Will you come visit me, Tezuka?" He could not help but to allow his tongue to speak it because it felt so warm after the years. It melted away a fraction of his weakness.

_"I have already decided to come visit you. I will be there in about an hour."_

Fuji held his tears perhaps in hope, swallowed the lump blocking his throat, and nodded in silent reverence. "I'll see you soon, I guess…" He could no longer speak anymore, and he almost felt the phone slipping out of his hand, and darkness pressing his eyes again, plagued by the feeling of tears of remembrance. A gentle hand brushed his forehead, took the phone away, and made him stand. While his head spun he was barely aware that he was being wheeled out of the house on a stretcher, into the freezing night with only his clothes and the thin, thin sheets to cover him.

All he could think of was Tezuka.


	5. A Fading Silence

**Fandom:** Prince of Tennis  
**Title**: Ten Thousand Silver Ties (Chapter Five)  
**Author/Artist:** MoonlitAffairs (Kyoka)  
**Theme(s):** #11—Illusion  
**Characters:** Tezuka Kunimitsu, Fuji Shuusuke, Atobe Keigo  
**Rating:** T  
**Warnings:** Character death (eventual)  
**Disclaimer: **All characters are hereby disclaimed to Konomi Takeshi. I don't claim ownership, and am writing this as a non-profit work.  
**Author's Note: ** Gah! Sorry this took so long! My brain's just… dead. I'm either doing school-related things or studying chess nowadays, with a bit of television and talking to people on the internet mixed in. Any feedback or suggestions are greatly appreciated, though.  
Remember that before you favorite, to review please!

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**Ten Thousand Silver Ties**  
Chapter Five: A Fading Silence

Only feeling the very faint brushes with consciousness, Fuji could barely detect what garbled noises reached his ear. The pain, cruel and knife-like, was overwhelming. Every single nerve point lit on fire and cradling his head preciously, he willed himself to curl into a fetal position. His limbs remained largely unresponsive. Trembling lightly, he willed himself to open his eyes slowly, and was met with blinding light.

Perhaps, for a minute he thought he was standing on the apex of the mountains, staring up into the sun that filtered down from the clouds on a gentle day. Unlike the mountains, though, his nose did not meet the all-familiar scent of the treetops and crisp, thin atmosphere. He was not looking upon the beauty of the world, as it lay blanketed in mist. Not even a gentle breeze passed. All there was in his vision was light, pure, blinding light.

At first, of course, his fears rushed to his throat and formed a lump.

_Was he dying?_

Then, as vivid realization struck him, he groaned, covered his eyes, and pulled a starchy, coarse sheet over his head to shield his eyes and make a feeble attempt to soothe his pounding headache. "Fuji!" The words burst through his head like absolute fire. Fuji had never felt more pain in his life at the very sound of the words. Each vibration shook his aching head unbearably, and inside he pleaded for it to stop. This was worse than anything he had ever felt—worse than when he caught a sinus infection last spring, worse than when he had experienced his first hangover after a stressful day in college. Fuji didn't know, despite his experience in dealing with broken limbs, that a single physical ailment could bring pain to the entire body. Fuji had dealt with pain before, pure, true pain.

Yet somehow, he seemed to have forgotten how much it truly killed. Fuji would have offered anything only to succumb to the shadows for only a few hours while the calm of numbness washed over him like warm water. He would even sacrifice this consciousness to hellish dreams, full of fire and taunting memories to give up this pain for only a while.

"Fuji!"

The voice, however, seemed to have different intentions far from the motive of allowing him this one comfort. Nearly stricken by annoyance, Fuji pulled the sheet from over his head to glare at a blurred figure, which cleared to reveal a sharp-faced man. He groaned loudly, and though his intentions were far from mumbling at the person, his voice came out weak when he was stricken with nausea and pain. "What?" His voice cracked halfway in between, but his annoyance did not falter.

The expression placed on the stranger's face slackened a fraction, only in a gesture that could resemble tenderness as if he suddenly regretted stirring Fuji in such a tone. His voice softened only a little when he answered. That voice, so deep and intelligent, was soft-spoken, as if he rarely used his voice or as if he was specifically trying to be kind to Fuji's ears; the very sound of it struck a chord in Fuji's hear, and a minute passed before he took another breath. What was he saying? Fuji didn't know.

Then silence fell, as if the very voice had been a figment of his imagination, and the face a hallucination from delirium.

Fuji suddenly jerked out of bed, sitting up fully with a wide, stricken expression. The man sitting patiently at the bedside blinked, and his eyes lowered when Fuji obviously realized he had moved far too quickly, and gripped his head in pain. The image blurred again, but he recovered soon enough to grab the collar of the man's shirt and stutter. The name failed him for a moment, but soon he found it and spoke. "Te-Tezuka?" It had been years. Why was he here? Was this a profound vision signifying the inevitable? Was he simply dead, and hadn't realized it? The image didn't fade, and this time he spoke clearly. "Tezuka… What are you doing here?" At the very name, blessed as the sound produced, Tezuka looked over strictly, his glasses flashing in the light. They couldn't spare Fuji a headache, could they? It would be kind to turn the lights off. His eyes burned.

"Do you remember our conversation on the phone?"

"I talked to you on the phone?" At the very word, Fuji swayed dizzily as if at the very knowledge he would collapse back onto the ed and slip back into the comfortable darkness of delirium. No such thing came, but his pain seemed to be dulling. Vision swirling, he closed his eyes to shut out a blurred image of Tezuka. Clutching weakly at his heart, covered only by the thin fabric of the hospital gown, Fuji sighed as his heartbeat slowly died down. Even now, he expected Tezuka to fade away like all his dreams of nights past. Their wonderful illusions and promises escaped him, yet he wished to grasp them.

"Yes. Try not to worry about what you've forgotten. You have a severe concussion, so it's typical not to remember the incident. Right now, it's far more important to focus on recovery."

Fuji's eyes narrowed a little, and he snatched up Tezuka's hand. Perhaps in this moment, his pain brought forth a recklessness that he had not displayed since his third year in middle school, when he and Tezuka had been alone entirely. Laying his cheek gently across the back of the strong hand, Fuji paused, his fingertips brushing over the others'. Tezuka's hand smelled like the surrounding room—like antiseptic and iodine, perhaps. "You're a doctor, aren't you?" His murmur was soft, barely a whisper, but the gentle gesture was enough to raise the fine hairs on the back of Tezuka's neck. Fuji was truly audacious, if not boldly intelligent.

"Yes."

Fuji chuckled likely. "It always occurred to me that you might be the type to scare children. I hope that such isn't true, Tezuka. Nobody likes scary doctors." Tezuka took Fuji's mumblings of nonsense as simple delirium, because Fuji had come into the hospital with something not typical of a concussion, a high-grade fever. Obviously, the IV line traveling to his wrist, held there with white medical tape and gauze that was dotted red with specks of Fuji's blood, had alleviated the fever. However, Fuji was probably still feverish, though. Maybe it would be good to humor Fuji, if only for a while. After all, it was late. He had secured a babysitter for the entire evening, so there was no need to rush home. His shift tomorrow didn't begin until the afternoon, so he had plenty of time to visit Fuji. There was a sort of simple pleasure created by the aura of Fuji's presence that Tezuka enjoyed, strangely. It was comforting, like a gentle spring breeze.

"No. I work at a hospital in the emergency ward. Fuji, you shouldn't cling to my hand."

Rubbing his cheek against the strong, calloused hand, Fuji took only a second more to breath in the unique scent, cologne mingled lightly with the scent of antiseptic. It was an interesting combination, but Fuji far seemed to rather the scent of light cologne mingling with an unnatural smell, paired Tezuka's natural scent. In middle school, Tezuka never wore cologne. Funny, his image differed little from the time that Fuji had last seen him, but he had grown up so much. Now, Tezuka was far more tolerant than he had ever been, and far less reclusive. It made for much more amicable conversation. "You're still the same old Tezuka, so formal. Should I call you _Tezuka-sensei_, then?" At Tezuka's expression, Fuji chuckled and dropped Tezuka's hand. "What have you been up to? Are you married?" Every so often, he would hold his head from the pain, but his mind seemed far from it now. In fact, Fuji was almost too calm.

"No, I'm not married."

"I expected you would now. You seemed like that sort of person. You're almost thirty, right?"

Tezuka blinked, and while he was barely thinking, he muttered, "I have a daughter." His words were like a chain reaction. Fuji suddenly lowered his face and opened clear, beautiful eyes to survey him with such curiosity. Before Fuji could ask, he provided an answer spare baited breath. "My wife passed away three years ago—during childbirth." Fuji's face immediately softened, and all other ideas that had crossed his mind evaporated into the mist.

"I'm sorry, Tezuka. You must miss her."

When the telltale, typical silence that was enough to tighten the tense bonds between them, Tezuka turned his head away, though his eyes glowed normally. Pushing his glasses up on his nose, Tezuka turned his eyes back to Fuji. "Sometimes. How are you feeling?" Fuji smiled and leaned back, his arms clasping around his knees when he brought them up to his chest. Fuji's eyes fluttered closed, and perhaps his smile grew a tad bitter for nostalgic memories. They were always like that, weren't they? He would forever be the one to smile, and Tezuka in turn would frown.

It brought back far too many memories.

"Fine, Tezuka. I just have a headache. You should tell me about that daughter of yours. How old is she? What is her name?"

As if Tezuka knowingly submitted to Fuji's will, he placed his hands on the side of the hospital bed and bent his elbows a little, turning his eyes to look straight at Fuji. That gaze, that amazing look, was enough to floor Fuji even after years of absence. Tezuka had suddenly taken a gap that had previously been absent in Fuji's life, and his heart felt strangely filled.

"Her name is Miho. She's going to be three next week."

Fuji smiled widely and rested his chin in his palm, mimicking pure comfort even when his soul raked with nail-like pain. After recovering from the initial shock of it, Fuji had seemed to be able to procure a well-developed mask that hid each wince and frown from the naked eye. Perhaps Tezuka knew, though, because he still remained to humor Fuji with the pleasure of simple company and light, breezy conversation.

"Really? I should make her a cake. What type does she like?"

Tezuka gave Fuji a strange look, and Fuji shrugged. Still, remnants of their once strong friendship remained, and they remained pleasantly entangled within the other's presence. Fuji, of course, was far more pleased that he was able to meet Tezuka once more. Perhaps his wishes had come true. For one moment, the urge to throw his arms around Tezuka in sudden remembrance was a strange feeling that weighed upon his chest, but both men were men of incredible resolve and control. Fuji just contrasted Tezuka in the fact that he chose to let more of his natural instincts and emotions flow through his barriers like cool water. "Tezuka, I'm not about to let you go now."

Perhaps when, at that moment, Tezuka pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, his hand really was there to hide the small pink tint of blush that flushed across his cheeks to the roots of his hair. It wasn't so much as Fuji's words that suddenly uprooted him and threw him across the room, as was his _tone._

"Miho enjoys anything with pink frosting. Fuji, you shouldn't let this be troublesome—"

Fuji interrupted him. "Nonsense, Tezuka. That isn't much trouble at all. My job is a flexible one, and I have a lot of free time on my hands either way. Baking a cake will be fun." Tezuka was looking for a way to back out of it, almost, but he relented to Fuji's strange will that ebbed and flowed like the ocean. It was strange to see Fuji so set on something. "Besides," Fuji mentioned, "the life of a doctor is busy. I'm sure that she would enjoy a nice, homemade cake. It will be less stressful for you, won't it?" He put his hand on Tezuka's shoulder for a moment and gave it a gentle pat. Tezuka's eyes shifted past the man's shoulder to his face, handsome and sharp. Fuji was beautiful as a teenager, but he was breathtaking as an adult. Still, his expression did not falter.

"Very well. Thank you very much. I'm sure that Miho will appreciate it."

"My, my, Tezuka. You're verbose. I guess that you really have grown up." Tezuka blinked; he couldn't understand exactly what Fuji meant. His words were simple, but past that was a strange, ulterior meaning that Fuji expected he catch. The ideas slipped past Tezuka's fingers at the time.

"You know," Fuji mentioned. "I've been so bored lately. We should meet for lunch or dinner, just to talk. It would be my treat. I even know a restaurant you might like." Knowing Fuji's tastes, that restaurant would either be strange, bordering on the lines of dangerous, or a restaurant that served food so exotic and strange that only Fuji could eat it and still keep a clear smile on his face. He still couldn't grasp Fuji's sudden friendliness, though. Perhaps it was Fuji's way of keeping his mind off the pain. Why Fuji chose to do it in that way, though, was beyond Tezuka's spectrum of knowledge. After all, he was no psychologist. "So," Fuji continued. "Is Thursday all right for dinner?"

Thursday was a day he worked during the day, though all his other shifts, strangely, were at night that week. Even then, Tezuka wanted to swallow and tell Fuji that he had plans, even when he did not. He was thrown into a completely new whirlwind, and he did not like it at all.

"Sure."

At that moment, Fuji smiled a smile that Tezuka had not seen in years, and so uncharacteristic that it made his senses jump to a different level. Fuji, resting in great satisfaction, enjoyed tangling with his former captain very much, he decided. Tezuka, after all, had turned out to be a handsome man. Even now, he could remember the feeling of Tezuka's lips on his, and the feeling of the coarse, messy hair running through his fingers.

At that moment, Fuji could feel deep satisfaction even through the throbbing pain.

Then, that night, he knew Tezuka wasn't a figment of his imagination. Somehow, it only hurt more.


	6. A Grim Goodnight

**Fandom:** Prince of Tennis  
**Title**: Ten Thousand Silver Ties (Chapter Six)  
**Author/Artist:** MoonlitAffairs (Kyoka)  
**Theme(s):** #23—Solitude  
**Characters:** Tezuka Kunimitsu, Fuji Shuusuke, Atobe Keigo  
**Rating:** T  
**Warnings:** Character death (eventual)  
**Disclaimer: **All characters are hereby disclaimed to Konomi Takeshi. I don't claim ownership, and am writing this as a non-profit work.  
**Author's Notes: **Two updates in one week? I WILL update Incandescent. I just need to send a copy of the chapter to my beta.

**Please Review. For reviewers in the past, thank you for your comments!**

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**Ten Thousand Silver Ties**  
Chapter Six: A Grim Goodnight

The nurses, infuriated that Tezuka slipped past their radar, soon ordered him to go home and allow Fuji to rest. Sitting there, Tezuka was all too quiet. Few chose often to bother him, because even though it was past visiting hours, Tezuka seemed intent on visiting the most recent patient through the ward. Tezuka disliked—no, feared the inevitable silence that fell across hospital wards at night. Across the hallway, the nurses sat at their desks engrossed in hushed conversations. Few patients sat in the waiting room, and the one small event that would stir a disruption in the strained quiet brought on by the night was, on occasion, a nurse calling a patient to the desk to discuss paperwork.

Eventually, the head nurse came into the room and asked Tezuka to leave. Fuji was barely conscious, and though he slurred a 'goodbye' to Tezuka, the man resolved that Fuji had not even recognized his departure. Straightening his back, he bade Fuji farewell and left with a new ache in his heart. Already, the hospital room was brighter. Likely on Atobe's orders, a man delivered a bouquet of exquisite flowers to Fuji along with a get-well card and a basket of fruit. Tezuka nearly scoffed at the memory of Atobe, but at the moment Fuji was preoccupied to match Tezuka's feelings. Fuji always appreciated beauty. Without a doubt, Fuji was grateful for the gift.. Partially, Tezuka couldn't blame him at all. Staring at the white ceiling in a hospital room was not the most pleasant of pastimes.

During his visit, cold crept across the nighttime and began to bite. The moon cast dusky light across the parking lot as Tezuka walked across the pavement, his breath forming clouds that dissipated into the night air. He tightened his jacket around him and unlocked the doors to his car. Even then, his actions were delayed. Slowly, he took his cell phone in hand and dialed a familiar number.

"_Hello." _

"Yes, Amy. Hello. I wanted to let you know that I'm on my way."

"I tried to put her to bed, but you know her. She refuses to sleep until she sees you walk through the door. I was just going to read her a story so she might at least try and sleep. How long are you going to be?"

Tezuka put the key in the ignition and started up his car. Immediately, the radio started, but his hand soon found the volume control, and he turned the music off quickly. "About an hour as long as traffic is fair. Call me if you have any problems."

As soon as the single connection to the world he had dissipated, Tezuka soon again became distant and contemplative. Why so? He thought so much that he mind as well ask childish questions such as 'why is the sky blue?' Even then, his thoughts wandered down a lonely, dark path. Fuji illuminated that path once. Tennis did, too. Soon, though, he lost Fuji. Soon after, he could no longer keep tennis close to his heart. Lost for a reason, he soon found another light to brighten his way. Her name was Adele Williams, an American he met while traveling to California one summer years ago.

Miho was growing, and a beautiful young girl at that, but Tezuka's world was still desolate.

There was a time that he may have sought solace in Fuji. His memories brought him back to warm summer days where sunlight cast itself across the tennis courts in just the right way. Shading his eyes, Tezuka looked to the trees that rustled in the breeze, and then to Fuji's beautiful face, smiling and illuminated in angelic light before him. Caught in his reverie, Tezuka reached out his hand to gently stroke the warm cheek; Fuji smiled at the touch but never responded otherwise, perhaps because Tezuka showed little interest in physical displays of affection. Under his fingers, though, Fuji slipped away like spring mist.

"I love you, Tezuka." Fuji's lips formed a ghost of a smile.

"Me, too."

Tezuka snapped out it. Before him was the illuminated entrance to the freeway. He pressed his foot against the accelerator and gave an uncharacteristic sigh. His relationship had never been far from the boundaries of reality. They were merely to teenage boys who perhaps decided one day that life needed risks, and those risks involved looking so far as to find attraction in the other. Their relationship, even after that, remained quiet, secretive, yet out of compassion. They were boys, still; they were boys who were able to love innocently for at least a while, where their tender moments were sweet and their kisses with one another kind. Fuji never indicated that he wanted to further their relationship, yet within their hearts, both wished foolishly that this calm, innocent relationship could continue forever.

Of course, it hadn't.

Their relationship ended just as it began. Neither had the dominant hand in the situation; nobody even bothered to take initiative. It simply happened. Their separation was a mutual agreement, again done in secret. Simply put, their emotions slowly wore back to a feeling of mutual friendship, not affection. They started as friends; they ended as friends. Even when they agreed they no longer felt emotion for each other, it had ended warmly. Fuji held his hand out to Tezuka and he clasped it in a firm handshake, as if their time together was nothing more than a game of tennis.

If everything was as simple as that, Tezuka didn't know why his heart still ached.

Already, he was nearing the freeway exit. His thoughts were enough to carry him all the way home on a gentle, silent river. His phone hadn't ringed once. The radio remained silent. Tezuka didn't even have to bear with the sound of car horns or the screech of wheels as another driver braked suddenly to a stop. The silence was solemn; it wept for memories that Tezuka could no longer understand.

Just outside the freeway, Tezuka pulled into the driveway of his home. Immediately, a girl, no older than three years old, burst out of the doorway bouncing up and down on her heels. Amy, a young woman, followed suit with concern. Her flustered looks spoke many apologies to him as she watched his daughter latch on to her leg, bouncing up and down excitedly, her face illuminated with happiness. "Where were you, daddy?" She pleaded with him as he gently plucked her off his pants leg and scooped her into his arms. Nodding to Amy, the three went inside. Miho seemed to settle when he set her on the ground to close the door and allow Amy inside.

"I need to talk to Miss Brown, so if you'll go to your bedroom, I'll be there a moment." She nodded and bounced off to her bedroom. Sometimes, it seemed like she inherited more of her personality traits from Kikumaru than she did from Tezuka. Of course, he thought to himself, she never even met Kikumaru, nor any of his other companions from middle school. Making his way to the calendar on the wall to write Fuji's cell phone number on it, he turned to Amy.

"Thank you for watching her so late tonight, Amy." He handed her the extra money they had agreed on—it was expensive paying for a babysitter for Miho whenever he was not there, but she was a fair woman and Miho liked her. Partially in regret, Tezuka tried to treat his daughter with an enormous amount of consideration. After all, she had no mother and he often times worked.

"It was no problem. Miho's a wonderful girl. She just doesn't want to sleep when her father isn't home."

"Yes. I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow."

She left, and yet again, silence fell across the house. Tezuka took the pen in hand again and wrote the date for dinner with Fuji on the calendar. Next week, Tezuka thought; his heart couldn't even bear the memories, or think that he had once been alone without Fuji. Like a pleasing lullaby, he felt relief seep through him when he realized he had suddenly found Fuji again. Yet, then again, he was finding it so hard to believe that his heart could barely even beat. His heartbeat was lost in his chest at the sight of Fuji after so many years; he was still as breathtaking as he remembered him.

"Daddy!" Miho was getting impatient and he set the pen on the counter before going to her room to find her sitting expectantly on the edge of her bed. The rest of her room was covered in mess. Tezuka always scolded her for not keeping her room clean, but after hearing the story of paper cranes, she refused to stop folding paper until she skillfully mastered the art of folding paper cranes. As a result, there were already several pieces of paper littering the floor that showed many failed attempts to fold a crane perfectly.

Tonight, though, she held up three to him. Two were folded sloppily, but the last had folds that were far more precise. Even when he was tired and worn, he managed her a smile, and she looked joyous at his approval. "I'm going to keep making them until I can get my wish!"

Tezuka, though in the past would have remained silent, replied. After all, she was a young girl, and her imagination was growing. She was overjoyed to hear his stories of their homeland and enjoyed the idea that she would be granted a wish upon the completion of her thousandth paper crane. "What are you going to wish for?"

"I want to see mommy!"

Her innocent voice struck a painful chord in his heart. Even now, it was difficult to control the flow of emotions. Tezuka remained composed, but composed, but Miho was able to notice the effect that suddenly overtook Tezuka. She didn't understand, though. Her smile began to vanish, and she leaned close to him and took his sleeve with her small hand. "Daddy, are you okay?"

He gave her a gentle hug. "Yes, I'm fine. Surely, though, you want something more than that, right, Miho?" Miho looked lost for words. Slowly, she nodded in silent agreement with her father and hugged him tightly. "Goodnight." The hug lasted a little longer than usual, but afterwards she let go of him and crawled under the blankets. Tezuka kissed her on the forehead and whispered a sweet 'I love you' in her ear, this time in Japanese. She settled and bade him goodnight.

Leaving her alone in her room at night sometimes didn't feel right to Tezuka. He was closer to Miho than anyone else; years ago, he never would have imagined that he was capable of such. When he truly had to be alone, his heart wept. Miho was his daughter, and the one light he was blessed with in his life. Sometimes, Tezuka wondered if it would hurt to let another into his life.

He finally collapsed into bed, but at that his thoughts didn't end. They darted around and delved into his memories. Tezuka stared at the ceiling, not even bothering to remove his glasses. When he finally did, the world around him blurred, and Tezuka closed his eyes. Even then, his memories remained firmly focused on Fuji. Tezuka nearly bit his lip. This wasn't how he usually acted or thought. How was Fuji able to disrupt him so much in one night? After so many years, Tezuka didn't think that Fuji would ever have that unalienable power. Thoughts of the time they spent together sped past his closed eyes in a crazed chase. Why?

Tezuka didn't think that this sort of loneliness was possible—it all had to do with Fuji.


End file.
